


Little Talks

by NerdiChick95



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:57:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdiChick95/pseuds/NerdiChick95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started when Belle finds Rumpelstiltskin celebrating Baelfire's birthday.<br/>Rating may go up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awake

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first series. Please read and review.

They’d developed a sort of routine, the little maid and the Dark One. Each morning at dawn, she would rise and prepare breakfast. When she first began cooking, she only served simple meals at the start of the day, such as porridge or toast. As the months ticked by in her servitude, she gained an aptitude for more intricate dishes, consisting of eggs, mutton, dried peas, and various fruits. After the first few weeks he had allowed her to sit and join him while they enjoyed their morning feast. After they were finished, she promptly washed the dishes and fetched her master’s dirty clothes for a proper cleaning—the imp had always magicked away the mess before and she insisted that he was sure to leave dirt and sweat between the seams. Of course, cleaning his dragonhide coat always left her wondering if perhaps a little magic would not hurt. With the clothes hanging to dry, Belle would wash her arms and face and season a veal or turkey or whatever Rumpelstiltskin had in his rather large cabinets, which kept the food unspoiled, and then she would place the meat in the oven to cook for a few hours. During that time, she would arrange a myriad of other fruits, careful to add variation to the morning’s selection and not use the same food twice in one day. If all of this was completed soon enough, she would have time to read a little while until the food was cooked. She would then serve the new feast to Rumpelstiltskin and eat with him—for some time after allowing her to have breakfast with him he relented that a shared lunch was deserved as well. Once another meal lay in their bellies, she would sweep and dust and scrub all of the unlocked rooms, a task which took up most of the afternoon. She would wash up again, and set to making dinner, usually a much grander meat such as wild boar, beef—roasted or otherwise—or on a very rare occasion, steak—he preferred his rare while she took it well-done. They dined together at night as well, for if she was eating with him in the morning and afternoon it only seemed fitting that they share the evening together as well. And when they were not dining or conversing after a meal, Rumpelstiltskin would be up in his tower or out on a deal.

But not today.

Something was wrong. Belle knew it when her master did not come down for breakfast. She told herself that he was probably working up in his tower and continued with her daily chores, but when he skipped both lunch and their afternoon tea she began to worry. He could not have gone out on a deal, he always told her beforehand. Nor could he have simply forgotten. After months of eating together every day there was no way he could have missed three in a row.

The concern of invading his privacy kept the little maid from going to see him for the entire day, but when suppertime came and went Belle stood from the table and marched up to his tower.

Each step seemed to grow higher and higher, and the closer she got to his lab the more tightly she clenched her fists, sometimes kneading her skirt.

The door stood before her like a wall. Her hand ghosted over the handle several times before she finally grasped it, and then it took several long breaths before she finally opened it, calling softly, “Rumpelstiltskin?”

The room before her was not as she had expected.

Rumpelstiltskin was a naturally haphazard person. The few times he had allowed her into his study, books had been spread out all over the floor, some of them turning their own pages, and on his cabinets and shelves sat strange artifacts and vials, one smoking next to another sparking. The poor girl had to jump around to avoid stepping on anything, and three times she nearly knocked over some sort of potion that he claimed “could have some nasty effects on her skin.”

But this was beyond even his chaotic norm.

Torn pages, broken glass, and charred wood surrounded her. A bubbling maroon concoction seemed to have spilled on the floor, and had now eaten through almost half-an-inch of the floorboards. Darkness consumed the spaces which were usually filled to the brim with candlelight. The only light in the room, save the starlight streaming in from the locked windows, came from a tiny little candle on the sorcerer’s work table, which seemed to be the only piece of furniture unturned.

Belle lifted her skirt and stepped cautiously through the wreck at her feet, taking care to avoid the sizzling pool of red liquid. Just as she thought she had made her way through, her foot hit something. A short, thin wooden stick lay by the table. When Belle picked it up to examine it, her fingers felt an array of notches, beginning maybe a foot off of the bottom and reaching close to the top.

The light from the candle danced on her face as her brow furrowed. She turned the stick over in her hand once—twice before she heard a soft sound that had been cloaked by the bubbling of the potion.

Turning to find the source of the sound, Belle spotted a small figure in the corner, curled up in a ball, eyes wild, though the face was hidden behind his knees, and breathe coming in quiet little pants.

Belle set the rod on the table and cooed softly, “Rumpelstiltskin?”

She inched over, stepping around the scraps on the floor, and knelt down beside him. The imp was clutching a dagger in his right hand and hiding his left wrist under his armpit.

“Rumpelstiltskin, will you please put down the knife?” she chided.

Not taking his eyes off of her, he flung it across the room. The clatter it made on the wall made her jump, but she quickly pushed her alarm aside.

She offered a soft smile. “Thank you. Can I look at your other hand?”

For several long seconds, she thought that he would not move. He surprised her though when he pulled his face out from his knees and offered his arm. She took it in her hands and gasped as a sticky liquid touched her fingers and the scent of metal filled the air. Rumpelstiltskin winced when she traced her finger over the open wound that stretched down his wrist.

Belle stared at the laceration with her mouth open. “My God!” she gasped.

Unsure of what else to do, she released his arm and yanked at her skirt before a long piece tore off. Taking his hand back and having him hold it up for her, she wrapped the cloth around it multiple times, murmuring a string of apologies when she pulled it tight.

“Come with me,” she whispered. “We’ll go get a proper bandage.”

She took his right hand in hers and prompted him to his feet. Together the stepped over the mess and out of the room. Neither spoke a word as they trudged down the stairs, but occasionally Rumpelstiltskin would whimper softly. At first, she would give his hand a soft squeeze when he did so, but after three times she stopped, put her arm around him, and continued on.

She led him into the kitchen and had him sit on a stool while she boiled some water and brought out a few clean rags. In the light she could see the blood that coated his entire arm and the side of his silk tunic. After some consideration, she took a bottle of wine from the cupboard.

Upon removing his makeshift bandage, she despaired. The wound was bleeding still. In fact it was bleeding very much.

“Rumpelstiltskin?” He looked at her without feeling, but his eyelids were bright red, a startling contrast to his gold skin. “I’m going to have to sew it,” she explained. “But first I need to clean it. It’s going to hurt an awful lot. Why don’t you have a few sips of wine before I begin?” She held up the bottle, but still he only looked at her. “Alright then,” she sighed.

Belle unlaced her master’s vest and tunic as quickly and carefully as possible and removed them. At the sight of his body she gasped. All along his torso, abdomen, and arms were long, thin scars, not unlike the wound he was currently sporting. Her unthinkingly fingers traced over him, touching each scar like a feather. His eyes squeezed shut for the first time.

“How many are there?” she murmured without realizing it.

“Hundreds,” he breathed, so quietly she could barely hear.

Shaking her head, Belle snatched up one of the rags and dipped it in the water. The next hour was made up by a myriad of wincing and whimpering on his part, and apologies and croons on hers as she washed the wound, first with water then with wine, and then sewed and bound it.

She took the used rags and tossed them in the pot of water—she would have to clean it anyways—and took the scrap of her skirt over to the fire to burn. There was no saving that piece.

Suddenly, he snapped his head up. “You ruined your dress,” he stated.

With another smile, she brushed it off. “It’s not that important. I can fix it later.”

He began shaking. “You ruined your dress!” he hissed again. His body seemed to almost convulse as violent sobs racked through him, taking Belle by surprise.

Without a second thought, she rushed over to her employer and wrapped her arms around him. His arms encircled her waist as he wept into her shoulder. She stroked the back of his head, crooning and whispering gently, “I’ve got you,” “I’m here,” but never, “It’s okay.”

She lost track of time as he clutched her tightly. Whether it was an hour later or five when he finally calmed down she never knew. For a while after she continued to hold him and run her fingers through his tangled hair.

Finally, she stepped back, still keeping her hands on his shoulders. “Why don’t we get you off to bed?” she tried.

He sniffed loudly and nodded.

He held onto her tightly as they trekked to his chambers. Inside, she helped him unlace his boots and found him a nightshirt, which he put on before removing his breeches. She had him lie down on his bed, and she tucked him in.

“Do you want to talk at all?”

He shook his head.

“Would you like to be alone?”

He shook his head.

Belle stroked his face once before walking to the other side of the bed. She pulled off her heels and settled under the covers. When he drew close to her, she wrapped her arms around him and let him rest in her embrace.

 

The rumble of her stomach woke them both.

“You’re hungry,” he said plainly.

With a nod and a yawn, she remarked, “You must be as well.”

He shrugged. “I suppose I am.”

“I shall go get us something to eat, then.”

Nodding, he muttered, “It doesn’t have to be all that big. Some toast and jam will do fine.”

“Very well.” She had to admit, the idea of slaving over the stove for an hour did not feel all that appealing at the moment.

Not half an hour later, she carried a tray with tea, toast, and jam out to the table. Rumpelstiltskin was seated in his chair, already in new clothes. He thanked her when she poured his tea, and for several moments after she sat he remained silent.

She was still trying to figure out what to say to him when he said, “Belle.”

Glancing up at him, she replied, “Yes?”

His fingers drummed the table near his untouched toast. “Belle, I must apologize for my behavior last night. I was not myself.”

Belle opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked down and bit her lip. When she looked up again, she said, “It was no trouble.”

Silence returned.

They finished their breakfast without so much as one more glance at one another. Belle promptly cleared the dishes when they finished.

With them soaking in the kitchen, she came to him and curtly inquired, “Will you be needing anything else today?”

He looked at her, his brow furrowing for a moment, before quickly replying, “Uh, no. No I will not. . . . And I will not be needing more tea later. Or lunch.”

With a nod, she said, “Then I shall go begin my chores.”

Most of her chores ended up half-done as she could not banish the previous night from her mind. Dinner was terribly silent, and the only contact they had was when their eyes accidentally met once or twice when they were stealing glances at one another. When they had finished, he quickly excused himself and went to spin in another room.

Belle bathed after washing the dishes, sitting in the water for far longer than was usual as confused thoughts battered around her brain. She lay in her bed for a little under an hour, tossing and turning before throwing off the covers and rushing to her door with a purpose.

“Just to see if he’s okay,” she assured herself.

She threw it open to see Rumpelstiltskin standing there already.

The woman yelped and both of them jumped.

“I’m sorry—I—” he shook his head. “I apologize. This was a poor idea.”

He was squeezing his left arm.

“Wait,” she protested. “Is your—does it . . . .”

Bowing his head, he mumbled, “It hurts.”

Belle took his good hand and led him to the kitchen. He did not weep, but they did spend the night in his bed, with him holding her as though his life depended on it while she stroked his hair and the back of his neck.

This became their new routine. Every night she would come up to his bedchambers after changing into her nightgown. She never came without permission from him, waiting for him to ask her to stay with him. Sometimes they would talk. They spoke of all sorts of things, interests, hopes, strange dreams, but never that night. Each morning, they acted as though nothing had happened. Three weeks had passed when their old banter and playfulness returned, and still they spent the night together, holding one another, though not as desperately as before.

 

He told her he had a deal to settle. One that would take him a few days.

She nodded and wished him well, and he left.

Her meals were quiet and boring, and she found herself cooking too much food. And while she did enjoy a little time to herself in the gardens, she could not help but miss his morbid jokes about the snails in the soil. The nights were the worst part though.

For the first time in the months since that night, she used her own bed. It felt strange, too soft, and not warm enough. She rolled over, trying every position possible. She lit a fire. She slept backwards. She slept in her covers, out of her covers, half in half out, and yet she could not sleep.

In the day, she could fool herself. But at night she knew the truth. It was not his jokes that she missed. It was not that her bed was uncomfortable. It was not that it was too cold. It was him. She missed his company, his warmth, his smell, of his arms around her waist.

Belle missed Rumpelstiltskin.

 

He returned when she was having tea.

When he strolled into the dining room she spun around in her chair and beamed at him.

“Well,” the imp trilled. “Somebody looks like she’s been having fun.”

Belle pushed the past few days out of her mind. “Well, someone else looks like he had a good deal.”

“Indeed I did,” he giggled, holding up a tiny golden key. “It took me ages to convince them to give it to me but I got it.”

“And what is ‘it,’ Rumple?”

Strutting over to his maid, he playfully pointed his finger between her eyes and whispered, “The key to a chest I found buried in the snow, years ago.”

She rolled her eyes. “What is in the chest?”

With another laugh, the imp quipped, “Well we must wait until I have quite unlocked it and opened the lid, mustn’t we?”

She laughed with him. “You’re hopeless.”

Quiet fell over them. The imp shuffled his feet and the key disappeared in a puff of smoke.

“Would you like some tea?” Belle offered, hoping to ease the tension. “I have plenty left over.”

“Uh,” he frowned and twiddled his fingers. “No thank you, dear. I have some matters to attend to in my study.”

She nodded. “Alright.”

“I may be some time . . . .” Was it her imagination or did he sound apologetic? “Will you—if I’m still not down when it’s late, you can go to my chambers. If you like.”

Belle glanced out the window. The sun was still high in the sky. “Will it really take that long?”

“Unfortunately. I will, however, be down for dinner,” he added. “I’ll have to go back upstairs afterward, but I will join you tonight.”

She nodded again. “Okay.”

That was the first time either of them had mentioned their bedtime ritual.

Dinner was a tense affair. They chatted and smiled as usual, but the conversations were trivial and the smiles never reached their eyes. The pair seemed eager to fill any lull in their conversations as quickly as possible, and with anything except what they really wanted to discuss.

As soon as they had finished, Rumpelstiltskin bade her a good night and rushed to his tower.

Later, Belle made her way to his room in her nightgown. He was not there. Of course he was not there, he said that he would not be. He had to work on . . . something.

Shaking her head, Belle moved over to the bed and slipped into the covers. Though he was not with her, she could detect the scent of spice and herbs that he always seemed to carry. It was faint, but it was something.

Finally, after too many nights of terrible restlessness, exhaustion took her and she fell asleep atop his pillow.

 

Rumpelstiltskin finished the enchantment far sooner than he had expected. So naturally, he began to spin. His fingers had been itching for his wheel since he left.

No matter what he was doing, he could not keep his mind from turning to her though.

He had hoped that going out on a deal would help, but it had not. The one time he actually tried to sleep he kept reaching out for her, constantly forgetting her absence. Whenever the boy with the key was speaking his mind drifted to thoughts of her. And now, seeing the bags under her eyes, he knew that she had fared no better.

And she lit up so brightly when she saw him.

His brow furrowed as the straw twisted in the wheel. He should put a stop to this. These nights were not good for him. For either of them.

But she was so warm and kind, and she liked to cradle his head to her chest.

The air seemed strange without the hum of her laughs or the smell of lavender from her hair. He had to admit that the scent suited her. A sweet, gentle looking flower, but get too close and you are met with a sharp kick wafting off of it. Not unpleasant, and very subtle, but it was stuck in his mind far more than was healthy.

Several hours had passed when he finally stopped. He should not go to see her, to slide into bed and pull her into is arms, but the temptation was too strong.

He rose and made his way to his quarters.

The echoes of his footsteps seemed too loud, and he had to restrain himself so that he did not simply run or teleport to her.

Then he heard it.

A bloodcurdling scream that turned his skin to ice.

“Belle!” he shouted, transporting himself to her side instantly.

His sweet little maid was thrashing and flailing on his bed, drenched in sweat, covers tangled up in her legs. A string of whimpers and crying flowed from her lungs, and her eyes were squeezed shut.

“Belle! Belle wake up! It’s not real! You’re just dreaming sweetheart!”

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he held her down and howled, “BELLE!”

Her eyes flew open and she froze. “Ru-Rumple?” she choked. Tears streamed from her crystal blue eyes.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled her into his arms, cradling her head in one and splaying the fingers of the other over her back. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around his chest and sobbed into his shoulder.

“It was so real!” she quaked. “Rumple, it was so real!”

“I know,” he whispered, rocking her gently. “Why don’t you tell me about it, darling?”

She sniffed loudly. “I was in a cage,” she said. “Or a cell, or maybe a cave. I know there were bars. It was dark. I tried to call out. But there was no one there. And I tried to shake the bars, but my hands started to age. I was aging. I just kept getting older. I got so old that I couldn’t even stand.” She buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Rumple I thought—I just—” she broke off into more sobs.

“Shh,” he eased, trying not to sound desperate. “Shh, it’s over, sweet. You’re not alone, I’ve got you.”

A few minutes passed before she calmed down. When she did, they both laid on top of the covers. He pulled her into his chest.

“I should never have put you in that damn cell,” he thought out loud.

She breathed, “You gave me a real room later though.”

“That doesn’t excuse it, love.”

Belle only clung to him harder.

As he began to drift off to sleep, Rumpelstiltskin realized how much they needed one another.


	2. It's The House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle decides that it's finally time for her and Rumpelstiltskin to talk about what's been going on each night.

He was spinning.

As usual.

Rumpelstiltskin was spinning while Belle was reading.

As usual.

Except today her eyes kept straying from her book. She kept fidgeting in the duvet in the library, unable to get comfortable, and twisting her locks in her fingers. Her lips—slightly swollen from chewing—kept forming words not on the page, words like, “just ask,” “do the brave thing,” “you have the right.”

To be perfectly frank, she had read the same sentence for the past half hour.

Shaking her head again, she said to herself, “Don’t worry about it. ‘What slew none and yet slew twelve? A raven ate from a dead, poisoned horse, and died from it. Then, twelve robbers ate the raven and died from that.’ Well that seems ridiculous. Firstly, how would one raven feed twelve people? Secondly, how is it that none of them thought it a bad idea to eat something lying dead?”

Rumpelstiltskin certainly had a strange collection.

Rumpelstiltskin . . . .

Dammit! She was thinking about him again!

And he had her cursing. Damn!

The girl’s lack of focus finally got the best of her, and she slammed the ridiculous story shut.

“That’s it!” she announced to no one. “I will talk to him!”

And that is how she ended up striding up to the tower of a rather temperamental imp that day. It was not, however, entirely unexpected by either of them. They had both waited in anticipation for almost two months now.

Belle knocked on the door of his study with a conviction that she had been mustering for weeks. This had to happen, sooner or later. Why not now?

“Come in,” her employer called.

She opened the door and stepped inside. “Thank you, Rumpelstiltskin.”

As she had already known, he was at his wheel. Without looking at her, he grinned and replied giddily, “You are welcome, dear.”

A few seconds passed as she thought out how to broach the subject. Two whole months and she had never thought of what she was going to say. Belle silently scolded herself.

“Is there something you need, Belle?” he interrupted her thoughts.

“I—I was hoping to talk to you.” Well that was a terrible introduction.

“Well, my dear, I am always happy to talk,” he chuckled. “What shall it be, then? The weather? Some faraway land I’ve visited? A book you’ve just discovered?”

Clenching her hands and taking a breath, Belle blurted, “I want to talk about our nights together.”

Rumpelstiltskin continued to spin without even a single knot or imperfection in the gold string. His fingers did neither stumbled nor paused. But he said nothing.

Belle bit her lip. Perhaps this was a mistake. It was too late now though. “It’s just, we never speak about it. And I feel like we should.”

“If this is about last night, dearie, it was no trouble at—”

Stopping him, she insisted “This is not about last night, Rumple.” Now his fingers slowed. “I’ve been meaning to talk about this for a long time. I just never knew how to begin. And then you were gone for only a week, and I could not sleep at all.” She stepped closer to him, praying for him to understand. “That nightmare last night, it just made me realize how much we’ve been avoiding this and—”

“Belle,” he interrupted. The wheel stopped moving. “Now is not the best time to discuss this. I have a rather . . . irksome issue that I’ve been trying to think over.”

Her shoulders slumped and her face fell. “Oh. Alright then.”

“Thank you, dearie. Now if you don’t mind, I must get back to work.”

The door closed itself behind her, but she did not notice. The only thing going through Belle’s mind was the fact that he had not looked at her. Not once.

“Coward,” she grumbled, not really meaning it.

 

Had any other servants cleaned the castle they probably would have noticed the sound of someone passive-aggressively scrubbing the stairs and washing the dishes. The also might have noticed that a certain maid happened to “forget” their master’s laundry.

Belle dried her hands with a rag. It seemed that she did her chores twice as fast when someone had irritated her. Of course, skipping over that someone’s laundry also helped. Still, there were a few hours before dinner needed preparing. She was tempted to curl up and read a book, however considering how successful she had been that morning that option seemed rather unappealing. A glance outside though, and she decided to take a walk in the gardens. Summer was nearly over, and it seemed right to enjoy it while she could.

Picking up her skirts, the woman made her way to the castle grounds. There was a particular spot under a tree with white flowers that she adored. Rumpelstiltskin called it a cherry-blossom tree the first time she found it.

Lying under the tree, she could see the sunlight through the flowers. It draped onto her face in a pink hue, and for a short while she was able to rest. A lazy smiled spread across her cheeks, and her eyes began to droop . . . .

“Ahem.”

Belle jumped. Rumpelstiltskin stood over her and the sun hung low in the sky.

“Were you planning on eating dinner, or shall I let you stay here for the night?”

“I’m so sorry!” she moaned. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He offered his hand and pulled her up. “I suppose I’ll have to throw you in the dungeon for the night then,” he chuckled as they walked to the castle.

Belle rolled her eyes and grinned. “And I suppose you’ll have to cook your own meals for the rest of the week.”

“Well it seems that I’ve already my clothing to worry about.”

She snickered, “I have no idea what you’re implying.”

He giggled, and she could not help but laugh with him. “As it is,” he said. “I am growing hungry.”

“You are the most codependent person I’ve ever met!” Belle grinned.

“Except for the past several centuries I spent cooking for myself.”

Rolling her eyes, she strode back to the castle by his side.

Dinner that night was rather humble, just a roast goose and some peppers cooked over the stove. They spoke easily, as if his earlier jitteriness had never happened. A part of 

Belle was tempted to let things be as they were between them, all smiles and fun to cover up their fear. But then, it was only pretend at this point.

He cleared his throat.

“What?” she jumped, not realizing the lull in the conversation.

“I asked if you would be opposed to my leaving early. It seems that someone is in need of a deal.”

“Oh,” her face fell. “How urgent is it? Do you know?”

With a shrug, he replied, “From what I can tell, I should be back fairly shortly.” Belle bit her lip and he frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Do you think it could wait a few minutes?” she prodded.

The imp pushed his plate away and sat up a little straighter. “That depends on what for.”

Belle toyed with her fork for a moment. “Rumple, I know you don’t want to, but we need to talk about last night.”

His nostrils flared, but other than that he remained composed. He stared down at her like a judge would a criminal. “There is nothing to talk about, my dear.”

“But Rum—”

He held up his hand. “You had a nightmare. You were emotionally distressed. You sought comfort.”

“But it’s not just last night!” she protested before he could stop her. “This has been going on for weeks! Rumple, I just want—”

“Enough dear—”

“Just tell me what this is!”

“I said enough!” he roared, smacking the table. Belle winced and turned away. The next several seconds passed like a chasm, stretching wider and wider. When he finally spoke again, he sounded worlds away. “I am going to handle this deal now, dearie. When I return, I expect you to have put these whimsical thoughts away.”

He stood and Belle squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force back the tears.

“I think I shall spend the night alone,” she said curtly. “If that is convenient for you, sir.”

Now it was Rumpelstiltskin who winced.

“Very well, dearie.”

And then he was gone again.

Belle did not bother washing the dishes. Instead, she left them in a pot to soak and trudged up to her room. Though he was no longer in the castle, she slammed the door shut, and for good measure locked it.

After bathing and changing, she curled up in her bed, burying herself underneath a nest of blankets. Soft whispers were audible from underneath.

“I will not cry,” she said. “I will sleep soundly and I will not cry.”

So she did.

 

Several hours later, Rumpelstiltskin paced back and forth in his tower.

“The nerve of that woman!” he spat. “Everything was fine. Why must she always have such ridiculous thoughts?”

He had thought himself so clever when he brushed the issue aside earlier. Aside from some unfinished laundry, his little maid had not done much to retaliate. But this?

The great and mighty Dark One let out an “Augh!” and continued to stalk around his work space.

“She’ll have a nightmare,” he growled. “And I won’t be bothered to do anything. She can suffer through it on her own.”

Letting out an impish giggle, he went on talking to himself. “She’ll be begging for my forgiveness! If not tomorrow than the next day!”

Yes, that seemed like it would work. Besides, she had looked terrible after he had gone before. There was no way she could keep this up.

He would win this.

 

Belle stumbled out of her room the next morning feeling awful. While she had managed to sleep through the night, it was a restless sort of sleep that left her more tired than before. At least there had been no nightmares though.

She fixed a little bread and jam in the kitchen for herself and dragged a stool to one of the windows.

As she sat and ate, she pondered how she would approach things today. She knew that she was right to press her case, but even more than that, she knew that she was justified in doing so. Rumpelstiltskin was her friend. She needed to make him see that friendship called for respect and understanding.

An exaggerated grunt behind her drew her attention from her mind. 

Rumpelstiltskin stood, decked in his leather vest and dragonhide coat. Far different from the silk tunics he had preferred of late. His arms lay crossed and his lips pulled themselves back into a nasty sneer.

“Am I to understand that you will no longer be preparing breakfast” he tittered, his voice subtly lilted with annoyance.

Seeing an opportunity, Belle smiled and said, “Yes that is correct. In fact, I doubt I will be doing very many chores at all.”

He tapped his fingers to his arms. “You realize, of course, that I dealt for you to be a maid, and a maid that refuses to do chores is a rather poor maid.”

With a perfectly polite smile, Belle replied, “While the latter part may be true, our deal itself did not stipulate my being a maid. We agreed upon that afterwards.”

“When I came for you I specifically said that I was looking for a caretaker.”

“In your deal with my father, yes,” she said. “However you did not make your deal with him. Our deal only stated that I would go with you forever. Everything else has just been busywork to fill my time.”

He smiled back, with equal courtesy. “I suppose then, that you will not be able to say a word should I decide that your place is back in the dungeon.”

Belle shrugged. “I suppose not.” His jaw clenched, and Belle wondered if he was biting his cheek. “Will that be all then, sir?”

“Just one more question, dearie,” he snipped. “Exactly how long do you expect this childish rebellion to continue?”

“For the foreseeable future.”

A giggle rippled through him. “Very well then, dearie.”

And then he was gone.

Again.

Belle shook her head and let out a sigh. It was a battle of wills now. But she could occupy her time without chores. Standing tall and full of newfound confidence, she marched to the door to go see the garden. She gave a tug on the handle.

Nothing.

Damn.

She tried the library, but he had locked it as well. Oh now that hurt. It was her gift, and he had taken it back. So Belle returned to her room. She had a few books in it anyways. As it was, she still drooped with exhaustion from the previous night. Deciding that she might as well catch up on some sleep—and praying that no nightmares attacked—Belle locked the door, pulled her curtains shut, and curled back up in bed.

The next two days went on like this. Belle would spend most of her time rereading the same three books in her room—an informative tome called Herbert Hollivon’s Guide to Magical Beasts, a touching epic called Paradise Lost, and a playful story called The Hobbit—coming out to stretch her legs and find some food that she did not have to cook. When she got bored of that, she would explore the castle. She had seen most of the rooms, but it never hurt to look around more. There were all sorts of fascinating things to see around the Dark Castle. Apparently, her master had filled one room to the brim with all sorts of clothes from all different lands. Aside from swiping a few pairs of boots, Belle did very little in there. It was not as if she had a mirror to help her. Another room that happened to be incredibly had paintings, sculptures, even mosaics and murals, ripped from walls, strewn all over. Some of them had to be centuries old. Probably her favorite room, until he locked it the next day, was stuffed full of sweets. 

Toffees and chocolates, caramels and sugar sticks all sat on shelves, filling every wall. Of course, even finding these rooms grew rather repetitive after a while. When she could no longer think of anything to do, Belle would concede to sleeping. Sometimes the nightmares came and sometimes they did not.

For the first two days when she would go to the kitchen to fix up a small meal, Rumpelstiltskin was there, always asking her, “So, dearie, are you done?” to which she would beam at him and respond, “Are you apologizing for what you said?” He would then shake his head, so she would chirp, “Not yet, then.”

The third day, he only appeared once. This time, he asked her, “My dear, wouldn’t you like to end this and return to where we were?” As before, she responded, “Are you apologizing for what you said?” As before, he was not.

The sixth day he sought her out and solemnly asked, “Won’t you stop this and join me tonight?” But it was still the same.

Belle did admit to herself that this time she was very tempted to accept his offer. Sleep still brought no rest, and he had looked so sincere, so upset. Hardly a trace of impish playfulness traced his voice. She could not give in though. Not yet. It was coming too close.

On the seventh day, she did not see him.

 

Rumpelstiltskin glared at his wall. An entire week had passed.

An entire fucking week. And still she would not relent. In all of that time he had not slept at all. She spent most of her days sleeping.

How was this not affecting her?

He longed to lie down and hold her close, to smell the soap in her hair, to hear the accent in her voice, to see the blush in her face when she giggled. To feel her breath on the crook of his neck.

What was happening to him? Why did he find himself bargaining for ways to concede to her demands without losing his pride? Was there even a way?

He had to get out of here.

Leaving a note on the table in case she sought him out, he left the castle in a poof of smoke.

The sorcerer found himself in a town, a few leagues to the South. Upon deciding that he did not wish to be gawked at, he cast a quick glamour over himself so as to appear human. Strutting through the streets, he eyed the different shops and peoples around him.

There was one woman there with striking blue eyes that caught his attention, but a wispy bundle of straw-like hair covered her head. Another woman he caught sight of had thin brown curls and was closer to his height, but she looked through gray eyes and wore a harsh face that was not at all appealing.

God, what was he doing?

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head and made his way to a tavern.

“I’ll pay you a crown for a table and as many drinks as I please,” he growled at the barman. “I’ll pay you two if you see that no one bothers me.”

“Ay, sir, I can do that! Thank you, sir!”

A little table in the corner seemed safe enough. He settled himself there and ordered two ales to start with. He quaffed them down in minutes, and the barman quickly brought him another.

The ale itself was rather bland, but the fire licking at his throat eventually brought out a dull contentedness in him. At least here he could get a drink and some food. No matter that it was tasteless and made him cringe.

It was a shame that he could not grow drunk as quickly as three quarters of the men and women here. He might have enjoyed a little reveling and terrorizing a town. How long had it been since he terrorized a town? A century? A century and a half? However long it was, it seemed a shame that he no longer found any appeal in those things. And there was not enough drink in the entire region to cause enough of an alcohol-induced-stupor that he would feel the thrill of ripping throats and toying with knights’ courage again. It was just too boring. And even if he could, Belle would never forgive him.

Shit, he was not supposed to be thinking about her.

He scooped a strand of straw off of the ground and began toying with it, turning it gold then back, then just the tip, then small sections.

Damn. This was so boring.

“You look lonely there, hon.”

A woman with dark brown hair, angled cheeks, and a corset that held all of her bust in his face appeared.

“Anythin’ I can do to help you?” she inquired.

Forcing himself to keep his voice from trilling, he replied, “Well I’m afraid not, dearie.”

“You sure, hon?”

“Quite sure.”

She cocked her head at him and sat down.

“Was I unclear about what I said?” he hissed.

Tussling her hair, she remarked, “No, but I can still sit if I want.”

“I’m not interested in a little cavort with a whore, dearie,” he snarled.

The woman snarked, “Believe it or not, I’m not too fond of you either, hon.” With a rueful grin, she went on, “But ladies of my profession don’t just ‘cavort,’ you know. Some men just want to talk. And sweetie, you look like you need to talk.”

“You’re mistaken.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Either way, I’m going to talk. You can if you want to as well.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rumpelstiltskin noticed the barman’s demeanor fall when he saw that his customer was being bothered.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you’re having trouble with a woman,” said his busty companion. “Wife?”

He glared at her.

“Nope, not a wife. Well, you seem like a rich fellow. Maybe it’s a servant?”

His teeth were grinding now. Suddenly the idea of ripping out some throats seemed much more appealing.

“She rejected your advances, didn’t she?”

“I have made no advances,” he seethed. His hand had turned white, and the glass he was gripping was about to break.

“So it is a servant then?” the woman chuckled.

Damn this woman.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about what happened?”

He sucked in several breaths and practically shoved them out of his lungs.

She shrugged. “Fair enough hon.”

With that, she stood and sauntered over to a table full of hooting men.

On his own again, Rumpelstiltskin fumed even hotter. He was never going to find peace.

And he missed Belle.

Damn it all, he missed her.

He paid the barman one crown and stormed out.

 

Belle leaned on his leather chair by the fire. He was not here, so he would never notice. On the eighth day since their fight, she felt extreme loneliness. Her mind currently lingered on his words. How could he have been so cruel after being so kind the night before? Not that she would ever show him how upset she was. She was too stubborn.

And she was still right.

As she sat and stared at the flames, she caught a scent, separate from the smoke. Something was cooking. Standing, she made her way to the dining hall. Had Rumpelstiltskin finally decided to start cooking?

When she reached the room, she gasped. Laid out on the table was an array of foods, some she knew, some were unfamiliar. Meats and fruits and vegetables and pastries all covered the large table, and she could hardly see the wood.

“Rumpelstiltskin?” she called out.

He did not answer, but she could feel it in her gut that this food was for her.

So she sat and feasted. The savory tastes and smells coated her pallet, enticing her to keep eating until she almost physically could not. Belle sat back in her seat and grinned to herself. The food was delicious, even if it had the aftertaste of magic on it.

Her eyes almost drooped shut in bliss, but a soft touch ghosted over her ear. She blinked and glanced around to see rose petals, dozens of them, swirling around her. Belle giggled and laughed as the danced and tickled at her skin, then they glided over to the door.

She pushed away from her seat and followed after them, pulling open the door and then walking after them as the gathered around the main door. She bit her lip. Could it be—yes! It was unlocked!

Laughing openly now, she chased after the petals, which flew through the garden while the sun began to set. Then she stopped.

They had settled by her Cherry-Blossom Tree, at the feet of Rumpelstiltskin. Beside him, glinting and winking in the pink and orange light, was a solid gold bench, designed in ornate and intricate patterns.

“What . . . ?” she could not grasp words at the moment. With the sky on the tree and the bench, and his own skin glittering beautifully in the light, she was at a loss for what to say.

“Well hello there, Belle,” he chuckled. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

She nodded dumbly.

“Won’t you have a seat?” he offered. Unsure of her own actions, she sat down, and he sat next to her.

As the sun dipped below the mountains in what was most likely the last night of the summer, the imp and his maid sat together and watched. They said nothing, only sat with the rose petals at their feet and the cherry-blossom petals in the air.

When the sun had finally dropped out of sight and the first handful of stars began to cluster on the other side of the sky, Rumpelstiltskin almost offhandedly commented, “This is a lovely spot to watch the sky.”

“It really is,” Belle agreed.

He smiled warmly, not one of his mocking or deceitful smiles. “You know something, I can’t remember the last time I watched the sunset.”

“Really?” she murmured.

“Indeed. I forgot how beautiful it was. All sorts of colors you wouldn’t normally see in the sky, all gathered in one spot.”

She bit her lip. “I always love the sky, no matter what color it is.”

“Oh really?” he smiled again.

“Yes.” Belle glanced at the greys and lavenders in front of her, knowing that there was an indigo forming behind her. “It’s constantly changing. It has all sorts of blues and grays in the day.”

“Indeed it does,” he agreed.

“And if you look carefully during the sunrise, you can see the entire sky makes a rainbow.”

“Goodness,” he breathed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen a sunrise since I was a boy.”

“Well you should,” she breathed back. “The sky is just . . . .”

“Beautiful,” he uttered.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Belle realized that at some point they must have inched closer, because their pinkies were so close to touching, and she had the sudden urge to lean into him. As a matter of fact, they were already leaning toward one another.

“I’ll tell you what,” he murmured. “I can enchant this spot so that rain or shine, you can watch the sky in peace.”

Tears almost formed in her eyes. “You would do that?” she nearly choked.

“And,” he added. “If you like, you can call upon any book in the castle, and it will appear in this spot.”

“Thank you, Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispered.

His wide gray eyes beheld her with something akin to awe and he breathed, almost inaudibly, “I’m sorry, Belle.”

Her smile widened and a few of the tears she had held back managed to break through. He wiped her cheeks with his thumb, and she took his hand.

“Thank you, Rumple,” she said. “And I forgive you.”

His smile was soft and grateful.

“Just please tell me one thing, Rumple.” He tensed but nodded. “I care about you. Very much.” He frowned, but she went on, “I have for a while. Even before I had that nightmare. And I want to know what this is for you.”

The man opened his mouth then closed it, a confused look on his face.

Finally, he uttered, “I don’t know, Belle. I don’t know what this is.”

She nodded and turned away.

“But I do care about you as well,” he said. She looked back at him. “You have become so important to me. Do you realize that?”

She smiled and conceded to leaning into him. He stiffened for a moment, but she was not shocked. They had never been so close outside of his bed. After several long seconds, he relaxed and put his arm around her.

She muttered again, “Thank you, Rumple,” and closed her eyes, enjoying a few moments of blissful peace.

Each thought to themselves, I’d be lost without you.


	3. The Stairs Creak

Rumpelstiltskin smiled as he woke up, tangled in his sheets with Belle, waiting for dawn. All through the night they had held on to one another, relishing the feeling of each other’s arms once more. Now, her cheek rested against his shoulder, and his cheek in turn rested atop her head. He let out a contented hum.

Belle sucked in a breath. “What?” she mumbled, not quite awake.

“It’s nothing, dear. You go back to sleep,” he whispered gently.

But it seemed that she would not have that. Stretching out like a cat, his maid rubbed at her eyes in an attempt to wake up.

“Belle, it’s not even light yet. You should keep resting,” the man chastised.

With a roll of her eyes, Belle retorted, “I’ve had more sleep tonight than in the past week.” She rolled onto her side. “As it is, I don’t see you sleeping.”

He chuckled, dropping her twinkling gaze. “Immortality has quite a few advantages. After some time, certain things become optional.”

“One of those things being sleep?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Sleep is among them.” Glancing at her again, he went on, “I still need to sleep, however not quite so much now.” Grinning like a fool, he added, “And just so you know, this is the most sleep I’ve gotten in the last week as well.”

Belle snorted, “Of course, I’ve been terribly selfish.”

She then began playing with the ends of his locks. His eyes locked onto her face, though she seemed oblivious, being completely focused with his hair.

“You know, your hair is so much softer than it looks.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth dropped open just slightly. “It is?” he coughed, unsure of how else to respond.

“Mmhm. It looks so coarse and stiff, but I think this is actually the softest hair I’ve ever felt.”

“Went around touching people’s hair often, did you?” he giggled tensely.

She swatted his shoulder softly. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do,” he teased.

Frowning playfully at him, she took one of his locks and managed to squeeze it between his tautly sealed lips. The sorcerer shot her a rueful glare and blew the strands out of his mouth. Belle wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Ugh, morning breath,” she gagged.

With a sneer that would have terrified any other, the Dark One proceeded to blow at her face until the she was forced to crawl away. “Serves you right,” he laughed.

“Oh, you hush,” she grumbled. “And give me some of the covers. Now I’m cold.”

Instead, he gathered the blankets as close to his body as he could and said, “Now that you mention it, I feel a tad chilly myself.”

“You selfish bast—”

“Ooh, you know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before, dear,” he laughed.

“Well,” she grumbled. “It is all your fault. I’ll have you know that until I met you, I never uttered a single vulgar word. And I lived in a castle filled with soldiers!”

Rumpelstiltskin grinned again. “So I have corrupted you then, eh? Tell me Belle, what kind of words have I taught you to say?”

Belle bit her lip, remaining silent for a few seconds before murmuring, “Damn.”

“Oho, come now Dearie, surely you can do better than that,” he pressed.

Her cheeks turned bright red. “Shit,” she said more firmly.

Giggling like the imp he was, he prodded, “Well that is better, but I’ve a feeling that it’s not your best.”

Now, biting her lip, Belle looked away and closed her eyes. Then, very deliberately, she turned to him, holding his gaze with determination, and whispered, “Fuck.”

They stared at one another for a beat and then broke into laughter, going on until their sides were sore and there were tears in their eyes.

“Well,” he snorted, managing to curb his sniggering. “I suppose I’ll have to call a herd of clerics to cleanse your soul now.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “They’d probably have a fit if they could see us now.”

“True,” he murmured. Rumpelstiltskin held out his arm, smiling when she took his invitation and curled up against his side. They sat in silence for a few minutes. The smell of her hair, even after a near-full night of sleep, was oddly soothing, and his muscles relaxed and loosened.

He absentmindedly noticed her stroking the scars on his arm, her fingers lightly tickling his skin.

“I never thanked you for that, did I?” he puzzled.

Belle glanced at him. “For what?”

Lifting his arm as carefully as possible, so as not to shift her position, Rumpelstiltskin displayed his scars more prominently. “For helping me through this.” His little maid blushed. “These past few weeks I’ve been nothing but unfair to you. And I meant it last night when I said that I was sorry.”

She returned her head to his shoulder. “I know, Rumpelstiltskin.”

He smiled softly. “I know you do, sweetheart.” Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her close and hummed, “But for what it’s worth, thank you.”

Belle took his hand for a moment and squeezed it. She opened her mouth and closed it, her brow furrowing slightly. Then, for the first time, she asked him, “Are you okay?”

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled, though his face seemed to fall. “That is quite a question, dearie,” he muttered. For a short while, he did not answer, instead choosing to bite his cheek and frown, deep in thought. He replied, “I will be.”

A moment later, he heard a meek, “Okay.”

Rubbing her arm gently, the imp murmured, “I do hope I didn’t startle you too much.”

She clutched him tighter. “I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“You did perfectly, Belle,” he assured her.

“But what if I had made it worse?” she protested. “What if I startled you and you—” she sucked in a breath.

“And I became violent?” She shook her head. Unsatisfied, he sat up and looked her firmly in the eyes. “I swear to you, Belle, I will never harm you.”

“I wasn’t worried that you’d hurt me, I thought—” she stopped and closed her eyes, taking several long, controlled breaths. Rumpelstiltskin took her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “I thought you might hurt yourself,” she finished.

He tilted his head for a moment and stared at her in awe. “You what?”

“What if when I found you your hand slipped and you cut too deeply?” Her glassy eyes squeezed shut. “You could have—” her breath caught.

Rumpelstiltskin placed the fingertips of his hand against her cheek. “Such a strange girl,” he mused. He smiled warmly. “You know, all that time you seemed so sure of yourself. You were so brave. The first time I think of your own well-being, and even now you surprise me.”

“I was so scared, Rumple.” She sat up and wrapped her arms around him, shaking slightly. “I was so scared that I would make things worse.”

He held her close, carding his fingers through her hair, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Belle’s trembling began to subside, though she continued to hold on to him. “You know, you were very wrong,” he said with a cautious smile. “Your hair is much softer than mine.”

Belle laughed and he beamed, though he could not help but feel confounded. How was it possible that such a creature as her could be so deeply hurt at just the thought of his death? Shouldn’t something so pure rejoice at the demise of the Dark One? Rumpelstiltskin decided that it would be best if he did not question it. Belle cared about him. Really cared. And that was enough.

“Rumple,” her voice broke his thought.

“Yes, love?”

Her finger danced slowly over one of the scars on his forearm. “You said you have hundreds of them,” she said.

He nodded. “I do.”

She bit her lip. Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head. Surely there was more she meant to say. “What is it, Belle?”

A small sound that might have been a sentence escaped her lips, but despite his heightened hearing he could not make it out.

“Say again, sweetheart?”

She met his gaze for a moment and looked away. “Can I see them?”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her for a moment before pulling away and stepping off of the bed. “It’s not a pretty sight,” he apologized before unbuttoning his blouse and shrugging it off. His glittering green and gold skin flickered as the scarce amount of morning light crept in through the window. Belle stared the entire time, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted, as though she weren’t sure if this was real.

Suppressing the urge to cover himself, he held out both of his arms, raising them slightly so that his sides were also visible. Belle could very clearly see an array of mismatched and jagged lines, all on his forearms and shoulders, his stomach and ribs, and on top of his right breast. The left side of his chest, however, remained smooth and unmarred.

He coughed anxiously. “I’ve lost track of exactly how many there are,” he said. “But I know it’s somewhere around three-hundred.” Belle rose and stepped closer, her eyes skirting over each scar. “Each year I make a new one,” he explained, his voice wavering and his body beginning to shake under her scrutiny. “I have more on my legs,” he added, though he immediately chastised himself for it.

Belle’s fingertips softly traced a particularly long scar on his left side, eliciting an involuntary giggle from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Ticklish.”

A nervous grin spread across her cheeks.

She placed her hand flat over his heart, feeling it pound against his chest. “Can I ask why there are none here?”

Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat, trying to find his voice again. “That, uh, that is why you need never worry about my safety.”

“What do you mean?”

Clenching his teeth, he replied, “Some other time, Belle.” He placed his hand over hers. “All you need to know for now is that your old monster won’t be dying any time soon.”

Belle smiled. “You’re not a monster,” she said in an almost matter-of-factly tone.

He chuckled. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

“It’s true,” she insisted.

And then he couldn’t focus. She was so close and she was touching him and he didn’t know why. Then she began to lean into him. And when he leaned in as well he was still confused as to what was happening. 

His eyes bored into hers, trying to wrap his mind around everything. “Belle,” he breathed.

“Rumple,” she replied, staring back with a hopeful gaze and a nervous smile.

“Belle,” he said again. “I have to go,” he choked out.

 

Belle’s hands shook as she absentmindedly stirred the porridge. What on earth had possessed her to . . . whatever that was? He must have thought she was a fool. The man had darted away in such a hurry she was sure he was furious.

And it didn’t help that he’d avoided her the whole rest of the day. They’d just returned to sharing a bed in the evenings. How was she supposed live through that after what she’d done?

Goodness, she really would need to see the clerics soon.

In all seriousness though, the anxiety running through her practically had her paralyzed. Would they be forced to end their nightly rituals because of her impulsiveness? Belle prayed that would not be the case. The past week was difficult enough with the onslaught of nightmares and insomnia, and she would rather not add shame and regret to the list of things keeping her awake.

Before she could fluster herself any more, there was an abrupt bang and the sound of footsteps coming from the foyer.

“Rumple!” a woman’s voice pierced the air.

Belle felt the air crackle with magic. Rumpelstiltskin must have transported to the front room. She bit her lip and wondered who their visitor was. Finally, curiosity overcame her, and she set the spoon onto the table, tiptoed into the great hall, and pressed her ear against the door.

“. . . full well that this is serious,” Belle picked up the woman’s voice.

“Is it?” Rumpelstiltskin tittered. “The last time I checked, it was impossible. I think it’s safe to say that you cast it wrong.”

“How dare you?” she huffed. “I did not make a mistake.”

The imp retorted, “And yet every time you’ve checked again you’ve found nothing.”

“That hardly means anything. If I’m right, then all the signs would disappear almost instantly. You can do it. I can do it. There’s no reason—”

“Except that we both have wards specifically designed for this particular instance. Wards that would have required prior knowledge to deflect.”

The woman fumed, “But one wasn’t deflected! Why are you so insistent on ignoring that plain and simple fact?”

“As I said, dearie, it was nothing,” he huffed.

“It was everything!” the woman snarled, her voice growing louder. “Refusing to even think about the possibility is absolutely reckless, and yet you find it appropriate to just sit around and twiddle your fingers when there may very well be a—”

“A what, dear?”

Belle could hear the slightest hint of impatience in his voice. What kind of person could get him riled up so quickly?

The woman snarled, “A bastard! A lazy fucking bastard!”

Rumpelstiltskin let out a forced giggle. “Well, I doubt you really have any knowledge of my birth.”

“That does not change the fact that you are purposefully ignoring this. If I’m wrong, you’ll waste a few days checking. If you choose to sit back and find out too late that I’m right, however, we’ll both suffer for it.”

The imp scoffed, “You might.”

Belle heard a rustling sound, and when the Rumpelstiltskin spoke again he sounded much closer to the door. If it weren’t for her damned high heeled shoes, Belle would be on her toes, ready to bolt if Rumpelstiltskin got too close.

“I think your little obsession with the dear princess is affecting your mind a bit more than you realize, dearie.”

The woman’s seething was almost audible. “This is not about Snow White. This is not about revenge. This is about a very real threat to both of us.” She stepped closer to the door as she spoke, probably to glare at Rumpelstiltskin more effectively.

“I’m surprised you say that, all things considered,” he snorted.

There was a pause. “What do you know about that?”

A giggle burst out from the sorcerer. “I see the future, dearie. I watched it all happen long before you did. And as for . . . this, I haven’t seen anything. Not in my wards, and not in my visions.”

“And I know that both of those things can fail. Given the right time and enough power, someone could very well fool . . . do I smell smoke?”

The porridge. Belle’s heart stopped, and she did not even register the sound of footsteps growing closer until the doors swung open and smacked her in the face, eliciting a pained squeak from the maid.

“What the hell?”

The woman stood in the foyer, tall and regal with raven hair tied in a bun on the side of her head, clad in black leather and velvet. Her dark eyes bored holes in Belle’s skull, and her painted red lips were pulled back in a bewildered sneer.

“Is this why you’ve been so distracted then?” the woman scoffed.

Rumpelstiltskin, who had been the one to walk into the hall, stood calmly and mostly nonplussed, though his hands twitched.

“Just the merchandise of a deal, dearie,” he laughed. Belle flinched as though he had struck her. “I figured I might as well put her to work. Evidently she thinks one of her tasks is eavesdropping.”

The woman stared at Belle for a few moments, as if calculating. Belle had seen a similar look on Rumpelstiltskin’s face many times. “I see,” she mused, not sounding at all convinced.

The sorcerer waved his hand at the woman. “You can go, dearie. If it’s so terrifying to you, I’ll look into the enchantment.”

She nodded, still not taking her eyes off of Belle. “Good then.” As she was turning to leave, she looked back at Rumpelstiltskin and growled, “I’d be careful if I were you, Rumple. Especially if what I found is true. I’m surprised you’ve saddled yourself with such a liability.”

His nose twitched. “I haven’t.”

She smirked. “So Maleficent was right,” she laughed.

He continued to stare at the woman until the front door slammed shut, then he whirled around to glower at Belle. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snarled.

Glaring right back at him, she snapped, “Merchandise?”

“Don’t you dare change the subject! Do you have any idea what you may have just done?”

“Is that all you think of me?” she demanded, refusing to curb to his demands. “As a piece of property? Am I no better than a slave to you?”

“In the eyes of some, that is all you can ever be!” he barked. Once again Belle flinched at his words. “When dangerous people, such as that harpy, come knocking at my door, you will remain silent, unseen, and obedient! If, by some ridiculous series of events, you are seen, you will still remain silent and obedient!”

“But how can you treat me like that?” she protested. “How can you say I have to be your slave after everything?”

“Because you aren’t my slave, Belle! I value your life too much!”

“What—”

“Belle!” he cut her off. “I have more enemies than you could possibly imagine! Every waking moment of every single day, they are searching for ways to harm me. If they think that I care even the tiniest bit for you, they will redirect their efforts to hurting you. They already have! Or did you forget about the so called ‘Queens of Darkness?’ And if that knowledge has spread, so much so that Regina knows, you are in even more danger than you ever have been!”

“And that gives you the right to treat me like a thing?” she said. “You degraded me in front of that woman because you thought it was for my own good?”

“That woman just so happens to be one of the most powerful practitioners of magic alive!” he snapped. “And for years she has been searching for ways to stab me in the back, and I’ll be damned if I let you be the knife she uses!”

Belle opened her mouth but closed it immediately. What could she say to that? “I’d never—do you honestly believe that I would ever let myself become a tool for that woman?”

“Not willingly, no,” he bit back, his hands clenched tightly by his sides. “But if that insufferable ordeal with Maleficent, Ursula, and Cruella proved anything, it’s that I can’t protect you every second of every day. If those imbeciles can find a way onto my land, you can be damned sure that Regina can as well. And she’s not the sort who believes in a ransom.”

Belle stood in silence for several moments. Her heart still stung from his apathetic attitude towards her in front of that woman, but there was no way she could refute any of the points he’d made.

“I see,” she said. Then she turned to go clean up the burnt porridge in the kitchen.

Once she was out of earshot, Rumpelstiltskin’s hand darted out to snatch up a porcelain vase traded for a woman’s fertility. With a snarl, he hurled the fragile thing towards the door where Regina had left from, reveling in the satisfying smash it made.

 

That evening they both retired to the same quarters. Belle curled up against Rumpelstiltskin’s chest and he draped his arm over her waist, though neither of them spoke. A few minutes passed, and her breath evened out as she drifted to sleep. Rumpelstiltskin could not help but noticed that her hand had closed around his wrist, and her thumb had begun to stroke his scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while. It started out as writer's block and evolved into procrastination. But I finally got it finished. I hope you enjoyed it!


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